Page 10 of The Heroic Mr Darcy's Bad Manners
Chapter 4 A Splash in the Pond
Elizabeth
Longbourn, late August 1811
“May I have my green morning dress?” Elizabeth asked Betty.
Betty was the long-suffering lady’s maid shared by all five Bennet sisters.
“It is in the scullery, being washed as we speak.”
It was Elizabeth’s favourite, but she supposed that another would do just as well. It was not as if she was expecting any visitors.
“Oh well, I shall take the blue one.”
“I am sorry, but that too is being washed,” Betty admitted with a frown developing between her brows.
“The yellow?” Elizabeth questioned with less hope.
Betty shook her head.
“This is very strange because I am absolutely certain that I have not worn it since it was cleaned last week.”
“I was a little bewildered when all your dresses were in the laundry basket. I should have asked you,” Betty admitted ruefully.
“I can assure you that it was not I who put them there. Do I have any gowns at all?”
“Yes, the white is in your dressing room.”
“The one which is too short, too tight, and has a large, irremovable stain running almost from top to bottom?”
“Yes.”
The mortification upon realising her blunder was turning Betty’s face crimson. She obviously understood what a mistake she had made, so Elizabeth saw no reason to admonish her. The choice was simple: she must wear the tattered gown or pull down a woollen winter dress from the attic. One glance out of the window disabused her of the latter suggestion; the sun shone brightly without a cloud in sight.
She let Betty help her into the awful garment and went to the breakfast room. She paused on the threshold. Lydia was already seated, which was unusual because her youngest sister preferred to sleep late. Her suspicions rose when Lydia giggled, and Elizabeth was utterly convinced when her youngest sister laughed aloud.
“Did you put all my dresses in the laundry, Lydia?”
“Why would you believe it was me? I always get the blame, even when I am innocent.”
Elizabeth raised her brows and glared at her sister.
“It was a great lark. I suppose I should regard your accusation as a compliment. I am, after all, the only one creative enough to think of it and brave enough to do it.”
Lydia grinned, and Elizabeth looked at her father, who slowly lowered his newspaper, looked at her, smirked, and dived behind the paper again.
Elizabeth huffed and seated herself in a vacant chair. She buttered her roll with unnecessary force, took a tiny bit of her favourite preserve on her finger and tasted it. She would not put it past Lydia to have added salt or something even more unpalatable to it, but the plum jam tasted delicious.
“Will you read to me after breakfast?” Lydia asked as if she had done nothing wrong. “Papa insists that I learn Roman history.” She pouted, but the Bennet patriarch was unmoved by his youngest’s antics. “I learn much quicker when listening to you read, and I can add new ribbons to my old bonnet. That way, we shall have completed two tasks at once.”
“I cannot. I intend to go on a vigorous walk,” Elizabeth replied firmly. Lydia should have thought about that sooner, preferably before pranking her.
Mr Bennet lowered his paper again. “In that dress?” he wondered aloud.
“I do not mean to be seen,” Elizabeth promised. “I shall not walk on the road, and I certainly have no intention of venturing anywhere near Meryton. I plan to take the western path towards Netherfield, and that house has stood empty for nigh on a year.”
“As long as you avoid detection, I suppose I must allow it.”
